


I’ll Show You Mine

by ScriptrixDraconum



Series: Steel and Roses [11]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Accidental Flirting, Arousal, Battle Scars, Developing Relationship, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Flirting, Kissing, Scars, Sexual Tension, Shyness, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 21:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3585426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScriptrixDraconum/pseuds/ScriptrixDraconum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Esmé Cousland begins to feel a bit antsy, and decides to kiss Alistair a bit too passionately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’ll Show You Mine

On the road south in search of a local Dalish clan, Alistair and I had begun to spend our evenings together, at least up until the point of sleeping. Mainly we would talk, and when the weather was clear we would star-gaze. The man surprised me by how much he knew of the stars and constellations, among many other things, crediting his education to the Chantry.

When I asked, he revealed to me stories – many of them embarrassing – of his years in Redcliffe.

“I was always the rebellious trouble-maker, the jokester,” he recalled, grinning. “I thought I was _hilarious,_ but the others.... Well, I wasn’t appreciated in my time, at least not by the sisters.”

“You’re appreciated now,” I noted as my fingers traced the length of his.

“Am I?”

“Alright, well, at least by me. And Potato. Potato loves your jokes.”

“I don’t know. I think Sten appreciates me.”

“Sten appreciates your shield. We all do.”

“You carry a shield, too.”

“Yes, but I choose to use a greatsword when you’re around. Let _you_ take all the blows.”

“How generous. My body appreciates it. Really. I love the ‘ _ooh_ , _how many new scars do I have this week?_ ’ game. I think I’m up to thirty-six, lifetime total.”

“My body appreciates your body,” I replied without thinking first upon the words. I coughed on my own embarrassment, and quickly followed the rash remark with, “Your sacrifice. Your body’s sacrifice, I mean. Less scars for me.”

I glanced over to Alistair, who was chuckling silently and blushing enough even to notice by campfire light. I play-smacked his flank.

“Oh, thirty-seven!” he called.

“I did not cut you.”

“Barbarous,” he proclaimed, a word he used often to describe me. “You likely have more scars than I do, judging by how _violent_ you are.” Alistair sat up halfway, propping himself up on an elbow. “Let me guess – seventy-three?”

“I don’t have over thirty scars, Alistair, and neither do you.”

“Prove it.”

My voice caught on my own awkwardness, and it was my turn to blush. Alistair was grinning wildly, knowing full well what he was doing. The brat.

I sat up, looking away from the man and toward the campfire. And then, I considered his words carefully. If Alistair was suggesting he wanted to get me out of my underarmor, he was certainly leading us down the right path.

Feeling mischievous, I turned back to the man, an impish smile crossing my face. “Alright, Alistair. You want to play the ‘ _let’s compare scars’_ game?” I pushed my body in a half-turn, landing directly over the man’s waist. My hands planted above his shoulders, and my knees indented the blanket we had laid out on the soft grass.

Forgetting myself and, more importantly, forgetting my surroundings, I pressed into the man, kissing him. He did not protest. His hands fell to my back and shoulder, soon wrapping firm around me. In mere moments, I felt a new stiffness against my body, and was encouraged to continue. Our kiss grew in passion, tongues tentative but brave, and I moaned against Alistair’s mouth.

His hands traveled down the length of my arms, ending at my wrists, which he grasped. With force I had not expected, Alistair pushed my body away from his, urging me to sit. The look on his face was unreadable, but expressed a mix of excitement and horror. I was at once confused.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, a little short of breath.

The man’s mouth hung open as he searched for words. “I… don’t…,” he began, his voice shaking.

Aware of his discomfort, I slackened my counter-protest, and his hands stopped cuffing my wrists. “I’m sorry, I didn’t....” I laughed, and slid off of Alistair’s waist. “I forgot where we were, for a moment.”

“No, no, it’s my fault. Can’t hint towards the _scar_ game until I… ehh, until….”

“Too soon?” I asked, hoping it was not, in fact, too soon to have sex. I was beginning to grow a bit antsy without it.

Alistair tugged a corner of the blanket and positioned it over his crotch as he fell back to the grass, landing with a grunt. “I didn’t think you would call my bluff,” he responded with a laugh.

“Bluff?” I asked, horrified.

The man closed his eyes and began chanting, softly, “Morrigan. Morrigan. Morrigan.”

“Morrigan!?” I whisper-squealed, doubly horrified.

“Yes,” he admitted, exhaling slowly. “The one thing that is guaranteed to wither my… ehh… _good mood_.”

“Alistair, my tent’s right behind us. You don’t have to _wither_ your _mood_.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Do you not want…?” I looked away, eyes closed. “Do you not want me, in that way?” He did. I knew he did, unless all of the playful remarks he had made over the weeks were bluffs, too. My stomach tugged and twirled within me.

“I… want…,” Alistair answered, groaning again as he flipped onto his stomach. “You felt that I want.”

“Then why…? I-I don’t understand.”

Alistair mumbled something against the blanket.

“What?”

“I’ve never,” he repeated before shoving his face back into the fabric.

“Never? Never what? N—“ I stopped talking, the answer hitting me as clear as if I had heard the man speak it. “Oh.”

Another muted groan.

I stammered non-words, fumbling over what to say. “That’s… that’s alright,” I related in complete honesty. “It’s… not a big deal. I mean, it’s,” I sighed, bungled again. “I don’t mind, is what I mean. You don’t need to worry about, uh, anything. Really.”

Alistair slammed a fist against the blanket before sitting up. His eyes never once looked my way, after that. Standing, he announced, “I’m going to that _very_ cold stream west of camp. Don’t follow,” he insisted, slicing his hand through the air. I stood as well, and Alistair collected the blanket, cuddling it against his torso. Before walking away, he added, “I don’t need you hearing me cry.”

Hands on my hips, I watched the man speed-walk out of sight.

“Shit,” I hissed, and crawled into my tent.


End file.
